Stutely's eyes were still trained on the forest floor, so he was the first to see the dense foliage part. A wooden staff appeared first, sweeping branches aside and dislodging the snow clumped amid the pine needles. A man followed, ducking his head to pass through, and the presence that brushed against Stutely's senses was one as familiar as his own.
Arthur always tended to look some degree of grizzled, and right now he was pushing the extreme end, his beard full and bushy, his head a wild bird's nest of curls. He was bundled in layers of well-worn clothing, at least one of which seemed to be some kind of animal's fur. In one hand he held the staff. In the other, worryingly, he held a rather large and conspicuously bloody knife. Come to think of it, there were flecks of blood on his coat, too.
Arthur's face split into a smug grin. "Oh-ho, fuckin' busted, lads!"
Stutely, who'd been swearing up a storm, quite suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
Arthur paced a circle beneath the net, chuckled, then – what the fuck! – raised the staff to give Stutely a light prod in the side. "Yes indeed," he continued, unperturbed. "Everyone's up for a hunt, but come time to dress the kill, all of a sudden... poof!" He gestured with the staff again. "Nowhere to be found. Hah! Not today, boys!"
Stutely stared blankly, struck by the strangest feeling of having walked into a room partway through a conversation.
...oh Christ, he really hoped that blood was an animal's.